


Struggling

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide Ideation, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Not as angsty as these tags imply I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: For some reason, Grantaire's answer caused Enjolras’s forehead to crease again. “No, that’s not – I mean, howareyou?”“I was doing a lot better before you asked me that,” Grantaire said, eying Enjolras warily, the warm, contented feeling he’d woken with fading rapidly. “What’s going on?”Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “You’re deflecting.”Grantaire just arched an eyebrow at him. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	Struggling

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted for sweet morning kisses and naturally, had to ruin it.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire knew it was morning without opening his eyes, and not just from the faint sunlight he could feel filtering through the blinds to play across his face. He also knew from the fingers he could feel skimming up his side, and the lips pressed against his shoulder. “Mmm,” he murmured, turning over, his eyes still closed, and he reached out automatically.

“Good morning,” Enjolras muttered sleepily as Grantaire drew him close, and Grantaire’s lips curved into a smile, his fingers lightly brushing against the light stubble he could feel along Enjolras’s jaw. He knew if he opened his eyes, he would never see it, since Enjolras’s hair was so light.

But he sure as hell could feel it, and it was as much a revelation that morning as it had been the first time they’d done this, over a year ago now.

His nose brushed against Enjolras’s, and for one brief moment, they breathed the same air before their lips met. As much as Grantaire had always dreamed of hot, passionate kisses exchanged after one of their many fights, nothing could compare to gentle morning kisses.

It was the absolute best way to wake up in the morning. And Grantaire wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He finally opened his eyes, blinking a few times to focus on Enjolras, his smile widening. “There you are,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing him again.

Enjolras returned his kiss for a moment before pulling away, the blanket slipping down to reveal his pale skin, and Grantaire tracked the motion with hungry eyes, already planning on a reprise of the previous night’s activities.

But before he could get too distracted – before all his blood could rush somewhere more south – Enjolras’s brow furrowed, and Grantaire’s smiled faded slightly. “Uh-oh,” he said, his voice low. “That’s never a good sign.”

Enjolras scowled. “What’s not a good sign?” he asked.

“The premature worry wrinkles on your forehead.” Enjolras looked briefly affronted before, with seemingly considerable effort, his expression evened and his worry lines smoothed out. “That’s better,” Grantaire said with a smirk. “So what’s going on?”

“How are you?”

Grantaire blinked, taken aback by the question. “Well, I’m in bed with you, so how do you think?”

For some reason, his answer caused Enjolras’s forehead to crease again. “No, that’s not – I mean, how _are_ you?”

“I was doing a lot better before you asked me that,” Grantaire said, eying Enjolras warily, the warm, contented feeling he’d woken with fading rapidly. “What’s going on?”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “You’re deflecting.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow at him. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Enjolras sighed, skimming his fingers up Grantaire’s side again, seemingly more interested in watching the way his pale fingers looked against Grantaire’s darker skin than in meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “I’m worried about you,” he admitted quietly.

“Mmm,” Grantaire murmured, his expression unreadable, and he caught Enjolras’s hand with his own. “Have I done something recently to make you worry?”

Enjolras snorted lightly and gave him a look. “I mean, you always do something to make me worry.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I am quite gifted in that regard.”

“But in this case, it’s less of what you’ve done and more…”

Enjolras trailed off, and Grantaire propped himself up on his elbow, frowning down at Enjolras. “More what?” he asked. 

After worrying his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, Enjolras finally blurted, “You’ve been in a really good mood recently.” 

“And that’s a cause for concern.”

Grantaire didn’t pitch it as a question, but Enjolras still shrugged in response. “It could be,” he said quietly. 

“What in the world makes you think that?” Grantaire asked, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt at his good mood rapidly fleeting.

Enjolras met his eyes. “Because it’s happened once before,” he said, harsher than he likely intended, and Grantaire flinched and looked away. “Where you seemed like you were in a very good mood. And instead…”

“Instead I wound up in the hospital on a 72 hour involuntary hold,” Grantaire finished quietly. “Because I tried to kill myself.”

The silence that stretched between them was absolute, and Enjolras swallowed hard as he looked away. “Right,” he said. “And now, with everything going on in the world, I can’t help but worry that…”

He trailed off, but Grantaire knew exactly where he was going. “That because of a pandemic and a looming recession and not having a job for over six months now, my depression has gotten bad again, and I’m hiding it from you,” he said, nodding slowly. “I guess I can’t really fault you for that leap.”

Enjolras cocked his head slightly. “Is it really a leap?”

Grantaire returned his look with one of his own. “What makes you think that it isn't? Other than my preternatural good mood.”

“Because so many people are hurting now,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “So many people who haven’t been through what you’ve been through. So it only stands to reason—”

“Depression doesn’t quite work like that,” Grantaire interrupted, his voice even. “Logic doesn’t account for much here. And I’m in a very different place now than I was back then.” He took Enjolras’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. “I was really lucky, Enj. My attempt didn’t work. And because of that, I got help, pharmaceutical and otherwise.” He raised Enjolras’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “So, yeah, things are pretty fucking bleak, and I definitely don’t judge anyone who’s struggling right now. But I’m very lucky to not be one of them.”

Though Enjolras nodded, he didn’t quite look convinced, and Grantaire sighed. “What?” he asked tiredly.

A muscle worked in Enjolras’s jaw before he blurted, “How?”

“How what?”

“How are you not struggling?”

Grantaire stared at him. “I don’t follow.”

Enjolras gestured helplessly. “With everything going on in the world...do you just not feel it?” he asked, a desperate edge to his voice. “How do you, of all people, hear everything on the news, and Twitter, and in our Les Amis meetings, and not just want to give up?”

“Me, of all people?” Grantaire repeated quietly. “Do you...do you want me to be struggling?”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “No, of course not,” he said immediately. “That’s not– I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He broke off, looking almost frustrated. “I guess I’m just curious why you aren’t as affected as other people.”

Grantaire paused, considering it. “I guess it’s because I’ve been through this already,” he said slowly. “The isolation, the despair, the feeling like nothing is ever going to get better...It’s not new to me. So it’s easier.” He huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “I mean, it’s not easy watching the world fall to shit, especially on this scale, but I’ve still been here before. I know that it does get better. So watching other people struggle with the same things I did...it doesn’t make me want to give up. It makes me want to show them that it can get better.” He shrugged, reaching out for Enjolras’s hand again. “It’s not gonna get better in the same way for everyone, and for some folks, things may never be the same, but things will still get better. And knowing that I can help other folks realize that...for me, that’s enough.”

Enjolras nodded, his expression oddly closed. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Can I be honest about something?” he asked quietly.

Enjolras looked up at him. “Of course,” he said.

Grantaire wet his lips almost nervously. “I think you do want me to be struggling.”

Enjolras dropped his hand, and it took everything in Grantaire not to immediately reach for it again. “The only thing that I want is for you to be happy,” Enjolras said, a hard edge to his voice. “I thought you knew that.”

“I do,” Grantaire said. “But I also think that I were struggling, it would be easier for you.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, then you wouldn’t be alone,” Grantaire said softly. “You wouldn’t be the only one who was struggling.”

Enjolras went very still, his expression dark. “I don’t...I don’t know what you mean,” he said stiffly.

Grantaire cocked his head. “Don’t you?”

“No!” Enjolras said, too loudly and too quickly to be sincere, and he looked away, his cheeks red. “I mean...no. I’m not...not like you were.” Again, his tone was harsh, but Grantaire didn’t take it personally, just watching him closely.  
“I don’t want to kill myself.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said evenly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not struggling.”

“Everyone’s struggling,” Enjolras snapped. “Anyone who pays even an ounce of attention realizes that.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he agreed. “But not everyone is struggling to the same extent. Not everyone stays up late at night working on untenable solutions to unbearable problems just to give themselves something to do and a reason to not feel useless.”

Again, Enjolras went very still. “You don’t...you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “That’s...if you think that’s what I’m doing here, you clearly have no idea—”

Grantaire held his hands up in a gesture that was equal parts soothing and defensive. “Maybe I don’t,” he said. “But maybe it’s time that you tried talking to someone about it.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “I don’t need to talk to someone,” he said dismissively. “I don’t – it’s not – I don’t need help.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help,” Grantaire said quietly.

“I know that,” Enjolras snapped. “I donate monthly to the suicide prevention hotline for that very reason.”

“You do?” Grantaire asked, momentarily distracted.

Enjolras frowned. “Of course. Because of what could have happened to you.”

“I– That’s very sweet,” Grantaire said, and he leaned in and kissed Enjolras on the forehead before sighing, running his fingers lightly through Enjolras’s sleep-snarled curls. “But I have to be honest, the fact that during this conversation you went straight from me suggesting that you might be struggling to suicide has me really worried.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to kill myself,” he said firmly. “I swear to God, Grantaire—”

“That’s not the only thing I’m worried about,” Grantaire interrupted. “I’m worried that you think that struggling only looks like being suicidal.” He paused, looking at Enjolras closely. “I’m worried that you don’t think you need help just because you don’t want to kill yourself, no matter how much you may be struggling.”

Enjolras couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “That’s not why I don’t think I need help,” he muttered, trying less like he was trying to convince Grantaire and more like he was trying to convince himself. “I– There are so many people who are so much worse off. I have my health, my job, the man I love, the work I love…”

“And you are surrounded everyday by people who have lost everything, by our democracy crumbling around us, by a corrupt system that lets cops get away with murdering unarmed Black and Brown men, by the despair that there is so much that we can’t do to help those who are so much worse off,” Grantaire said softly. “That would take a toll on anyone.”

Enjolras managed a small, sad smile. “Well, there is that.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “So you think I need help.”

Grantaire nodded. “I think at the very least, you should talk to someone.”

Enjolras smiled again. “I’m talking to you,” he said, nudging Grantaire lightly.

But Grantaire didn’t smile. “I meant a professional.”

Enjolras made a face. “You want me to see a shrink?”

“I want you to talk to a mental health professional, yes.”

“I prefer talking to you,” Enjolras said, leaning in to kiss Grantaire, but Grantaire stopped him.

“No.”

Enjolras frowned. “No what?”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I love you,” he said, searching Enjolras’s expression for understanding. “And if you asked it of me, you know that I would try to be that person for you. That I would listen to you, for as long as you needed. That I would...I would bear it for you, as much as I could, to make it easier for you. To help you.” Enjolras’s brow was furrowed and Grantaire took another deep breath, steeling himself for what he needed to say. “But that might actually break me. I’m not strong enough for that, Enjolras. I still struggle sometimes, too – a lot of the time, if I’m being honest – and it takes everything that I have to keep going. If you put all of that on me, I’d have nothing left for myself.”

Enjolras reached out, taking both of Grantaire’s hands in his. “I would never, ever ask you to do that,” he said, his voice low.

“And that’s why you need to talk to someone else.”

Silence stretched between them again, but it was a different kind of silence now, both men coming to a tentative understanding. “Do I have to agree to this right now?” Enjolras asked finally.

Grantaire barked a laugh and shook his head. “You don’t have to agree to this at all if you don’t want.”

Enjolras looked surprised. “You’re not going to make me get help?”

“Enjolras, if I thought I could make you do anything…”

Enjolras grinned. “Fair.”

“But just know that when you are ready to get help,” Grantaire continued, squeezing his hand, “when you’re done with struggling with this on your own, I’ll be here to help.”

“Yeah?”

There was something almost desperate in Enjolras’s voice and without hesitating, Grantaire leaned in and kissed him. He rested his forehead against Enjolras’s, starting to say something but stopping, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Enjolras nudged him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Enjolras gave him a look and Grantaire laughed lightly. “Nothing, really. It was going to be nerdy.”

“Which is so completely out of the ordinary for you,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire laughed again and kissed Enjolras once more. “Just...I meant what I said before. I can’t carry it for you. But I can carry you. Or at least help to.”

Enjolras snorted softly. “Lord of the Rings,” he said with a sigh. “I should’ve known.”

Grantaire grinned. “Not the first time I’ve been the Sam to your Frodo.”

“Genuinely cannot tell if I’m supposed to be flattered by that comparison or not.”

“Anyone’s guess, really,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

But Enjolras did not laugh, just leaning in again to kiss him once more. “I love you,” he said, suddenly serious. “And...I can’t promise…”

“I know,” Grantaire said, because he did. “I’m not going anywhere regardless.” He kissed Enjolras, trying to put everything he couldn’t bring himself to say into the kiss, and mostly trying to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that if Grantaire had his way, he never would be. “And I love you, too.”


End file.
